That Old Black Magic
by Madi Holmes
Summary: Garth Fitzgerald IV and the gang all road trip to Troy, Iowa for a case. Hilarity ensues as Cas gets hit on constantly, Dean gets slapped constantly, and Garth teaches Kevin and Cas the finer points of bingo. Actual case fic with Garth having to learn where he fits in the Winchester foster family after a year or two of screw ups and mistakes.


If I had to pick my favorite teeth, it'd probably be the premolars. Fun to work on, fun to say. Four out of five dentists generally say things like incisors or canines, up until they get bit, and then they say molars. But I've generally been the fifth one out, out on my own. I prefer it that way- as they say: one dentist per mouth. But I've decided to reconnect with humanity.

But back to premolars. They're the do-anything teeth. They can masticate meat, plant matter, or grains like the best of all possible worlds. Those pearly whites never get enough love or attention.

I've been pondering teeth lately. It is my avocation, but, honestly, there's so much to dentition beyond dentition. Like diastemas and how they evolved and then disappeared. Every once in a while, some guy would come in sporting a pair, and I get all bouncy, then have to explain primate and hominid evolution, but without explaining it as evolution, because not all of my patients like that.

I'd been thinking about teeth right then; driving about sixty-five down a two lane blacktop when a massive rock hurtled out of the sky, and slammed into the hood of my Ranchero.

While I was driving.

I knew in an instant that the Winchesters ( ed. note: when is it not them?) were doing something incredibly stupid. Even as my teeth stopped chattering, I could feel the universe shifting out around me, feel it deep in my bones. Knew enough to know when those two had tried to use their brains, and this is where it got me. In a flaming, out of control car, zooming from eighty to zero out in some back county road.

I'm not usually this cranky (ed. note: hakuna matata, bitches), but there was a steaming pile of something on fire burning through my engine block, inches from my feet.

My brain curb stomped into overdrive, and I was about to call down rain fire and wrath when I realized that this wasn't the path to enlightenment. That I needed to calm down and find my place in the universe again.

I quickly clamored out of the car, clutching my forehead (ed. note: turned out my left maxilla had slammed into the wheel, caused a hairline fracture), and found a man slapping at the fire engulfing his elbows with his bare hands. An angel had fallen from the sky.

I could see other contrails in the deep distance, all hurtling toward Earth. The brothers hadn't done something stupid. They had Jesus-on-the-Cross fucked up.

"Hello," he croaked, his coat still singing, flickering in dying embers.

I felt like I knew how he felt. "There's something wrong," I admit.

"Yes," he agreed.

And then Garth slid out away from the world.

I woke up hard. My arm hurt, my big toe hurt. Things in between twinged, ached. The hairline fracture throbbing. I had lost at least two appendages- like my legs, but I checked and they were still there. My balance wobbling as I went from heavy to an uncomfortable lightness of being. Finally, my mind kicked in, took a second to ponder, then raged against the sky, letting anger and cold fear spark up around me.

I'm going to murder someone.

Probably a Winchester. Probably two of them.

I staggered forward, wanted to fly away, failed, landed flat on my ass in a puddle of muck and mire. I couldn't control my balance.

That stupid angel was long gone. If he'd stayed, we could have done something productive together, but he'd bolted. I needed to center myself.

First, a two hour power meditation was in order. An old girlfriend- Tanya? Tarin? Tara? had gotten me hooked, and it would center me. Especially now that I needed that peaceful gooey center in a crazy caramel and pecan world.

I weeble wobbled over to a lovely cottonwood (ed. note: Buddha had used a Bodhi tree). Being stuck in Kansas, I couldn't really find a fig tree. But there were massive cottonwoods all over the place. I levered myself down against its trunk, and waited out the concussion. Most people would say that was incredibly stupid. You've never been stranded in rural Kansas with nothing but wheat, soy, and distant treelines fluttering in the wind.

There was too much out there, buzzing out in the ether. I could feel the atmosphere on fire, could smell the ozone throbbing (ed. note: although that was probably my car).

But I still needed to figure out what was going on, maybe ask Kevin later to do a little investigating. It wasn't that I'd failed to keep an eye on the kid in the past, it was that the kid was so... spaced out, in his own little commune with the heavenly host. And Kevin's direct access to all of creation scared the shit out of me. Last thing I wanted was be put on Heaven's no fly list, be misidentified, or just generally ping their Stasi Manchurian Candidate radar. I was but a humble dentist who took out the tooth fairy, killed the occasional monster, and was friends with the Winchester Brothers. I didn't want to have to deal with angels with itchy angel blades.

I let it all go. I needed peace and quiet, and to not focus on anything.

Just as I'd hit that plateau of nothingness and nowhereness, my phone rang. Grunting back down from Nirvana, I answered it, a dial tone squawking back at me. My eyes narrowed. The phone died in my hands.

It wasn't that I liked Kansas. It was that it was Kansas. It was. Kansas.

Like the band, a little went a long way, and it was just that their songs just went on way too long. They didn't know when to rein in the power ballading, and the state held the same kind of inability to rein in its geography.

But I needed to get going.

Start walking.

In the past, I had rarely walked, preferring faster modes of transportation. But then I got into it. Just using my legs, enjoying nature, frisbee golfing. The simple pleasures in life of not giving a shit.

I left the car behind, left practically everything behind. Again. Starting monologuing the paleoanthropological history of primate and hominid dentition to calm down and focus (ed. note: there's a massive debate in hominid evolutionary tree over whether humans descended from graciles or robust Australopithecines. If we go by teeth alone, the graciles win out easily, if we look post-cranially, then it's a wash).

Time went away then. As much as I was used to walking, I wasn't used to just this much walking, stumbling, trudging forward. Minutes, hours, minutes went by. I finally made it through the never-ending rolling Flint Hills and endless, barren sunshine.

I made it to a farm house, explained what'd happened, begged for Christian charity to make one phone call. In the Jannisen's kitchen, I could see a television airing the same dash cam recordings of angels falling across the world. One crashed into Dubai, taking out an entire city block and fifteen satellite dishes. This wasn't going to end well.

Kevin finally answered the phone, sounding spazzed out, stressed, and unable to function. I was the last person he wanted to talk to except that I was the only adult he could contact.

An hour later, he came raring up the driveway in an old Olsdmobile Cutlass Supreme. It's basically a land battle cruiser on wheels, but I was in no position to snark.

And then there was Kevin. Poking me with a stick.

I thought it was a stick. It could have been an angel blade. Or a gun. I knew he was still pissed at me. That he blamed me for his mother's death. But then I was being taken inside the bunker. I may or may not have lost a bit of time between Kevin poking me with a stick and being put in the car.

I fell asleep.

Woke up just in time to be jostled by the gravel road by the bunker.

Kevin noticed me awake, pawing at my eyes. "You've got blood all over you." he stated.

"Yeah?" I asked in between heartbeats.

"No wounds though."

I had to ponder the implications and assumptions. "Those were angels that fell?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe that angel cured me before he took off."

Kevin shrugged, ground the gears into fifth before finally coming to a stop in front of the Bunker.

The story during the time I was at the bunker was nominally boring. The brothers had definitely screwed up in every conceivable way, Kevin was seething angry at me, and still Hulk-roiding out long past the healthy stage of letting anger and pain go.

Sam tended to Dean, and Dean tended to Sam. Those brotherly bonds of co-dependency were more strangling than ever. It wasn't that it was unhealthy, it was that it was bordering on Jeremy Irons playing them both in a Cronenberg movie.

The few phones I salvaged were spazzing out all over the place. I trained Kevin as my admin assistant, but even that failed once when his voice cracked while pretending to be FBI, and sounding all of 13. I quickly snatched the phone away, and had to make up some excuse about "Take your daughter to work day" with him accidently on purpose answering the phone.

I have other weird vignettes about this time period, but they're mostly shaky as I readjusted, because I'm honestly still feeling that crash. I've managed to regain some semblance of myself- itching for a new monster to kill, start an angel help hotline, that kind of thing, but it's all mostly mushed together, and I'm still processing everything.

But it finally got to the point where I was gearing up for the next hunt, actually salivating (ed. note: there are three main salivary glands in the mouth- Parotid gland, Submandibular gland, and the Sublingual gland, Plus another 80 or so mini ones. There're more to glands, but, honestly, I'm way more into teeth. Also brush your teeth. And floss).

Dean had stashed Sam in a nursing home facility. The guy was just fading hard, you could see his molecules just disappearing into the atmosphere. It was painful, like watching microscopic dandelions as the skin sloughed off. Even with, as I found out later, Ezekiel in there to mend and tend to the rips and tears to his body.

It royally sucked, and Dean was right there with him constantly, he disappearing in his own quiet miasma of sympathy failed trial sickness.

As Sam was vanishing, so was Dean.

Charlie showed up, all tight and pinched, tried her best to cheer them both up- especially Dean, but ultimately failed. They both decided on a Billy and Mandy and Courage marathon. Fifteen minutes into it, they quit. Charlie stayed a bit longer, made some excuse about another NBNW hacker con, and took off. It was okay. We understood. She couldn't just lose another family. We've all been there, we just... didn't have anywhere else to go. If I had a conveninent hacker con, I'd have gone too.

I had to get out. Kevin also, apparently.

Hunting was a fantastic idea. The best I'd had in years. But hunting with Kevin sounded like the worst idea ever.

I finally got a bead on a witch in Troy, Iowa (ed. note: the Troy, Iowa in Lucas County, not the Troy, Iowa in Davis County), about six hours away. Witches aren't really my thing, but it's more of the getting out and ganking something more than anything at this point. Just get out on the open back road. Open the throttle until the yellow stripes warp speed into one long line. Listening to crap classic rock and country from Junction City and Topeka as I eat pastrami sandwiches.

Kevin came.

But he needed it too, and I needed to... atone? Fix our relationship. I had screwed him over pretty badly. I doubt even the great and powerful Buddha would have understood. Cas came too.

That was a terrible idea too.

Even if it was based on solid evidence gleaned from a human interest story that went viral as ten weddings, three divorces, two murders, and one case of bigamy-murder. All of this happened in one week. Reddit went nuts.

Oh, yeah. I forgot something.

Dean and Sam came along too.

All of the death and wasting away by the Winchesters? That came later. Sam had rallied by this point from a few weeks ago, and they wanted to get some quality bonding time together. They basically stole my hunt, then caravanned with me up to Troy. There were five of us to take out one witch. It was like Three Stooges on a witch hunt (ed. note: I'm always Shemp).

But back to Troy, Iowa. It's a cute little rundown small city in Iowa that has hotels, a swimming pool, and that lovely smalltown, Iowa feel (ed. note: Kevin got it wrong, it was Davis County, not Lucas County- he almost took us to Lebanon, Iowa, but I had had enough naming ironies for the day).

The guys were stuck in the Bugs-a-Bed Motel out by Troy's redlight block. It appropriately had a pig and corn motif, because we hadn't just seen thousands of acres of hypnotizing baby corn fields driving here. Their room had photographs of corn fields and John Deere tractors wallpapered to the walls.

I, however, have a Motel 6 platinum membership gold card as personally endorsed and embossed by Tom Bodett (ed. note: he even autographed mine), and I pulled into their parking lot out there in Troy like a returning king. I love Motel 6.

Kevin decided to stay with me. The first time he'd been with the brothers, Sam had been apple fart bombing all night. Dean first had insomnia (ed. note: and had offered Kevin the underaged minor some Nebraska moonshine), then fell asleep, and proceeded sleep talk the whole night.

I, on the other hand, was personally blamed for getting Mama Tran killed, for Crowley capturing and mind screwing the prophet of our Lord, and for being a bad host in general. But it was now getting to the point where Kevin was settling into his new life, and apparently my past sins were paling compared to Sam's current indigestion.

Kevin plopped onto the bed and turned on some stoner cartoons as I set up my research library. I ignored the television's seizure inducing flashing lights as I data crunched the victims' stats, mapping out locations, google searching, and reading past issues of the local newspaper and various church bulletins (you'd be amazed at what gets published there), looking for oddities and patterns to those oddities. There just wasn't much. Most of them were generally on the east side of town, but it was still too scattered. Plus east side/west side in a town this small are not all that relevant. Even finding the center of them only led to a park and tennis court.

Also no demographic correlation. Older couples, younger couples. The marriages started first, the one bigamist bride murderer later murdered husband number one a few days later. There was a teen suicide from last year which may or may not have been connected. That was, at least, worth a start. The bigamist bride murderer also could be questioned, but I like going chronologically.

We all ended up in a Dairy Queen brazier, where the floors were sticky, and it had that wonderful sour milk smell. I'd ordered a fish sandwich and fries from a teenaged girl nametagged Mikaela, and let Kevin pick out whatever he wanted. Another girl in the back with the name tag Erin handed us our food, then quickly went back to texting.

The guys were already tearing into burgers and chicken strips as I sat down. Kevin was already slurping down a (disgusting) large nerds chocolate blizzard with extra nerds. I was grossed out, and reminded myself to get him some floss and baking soda toothpaste for everyone (ed. note: I was secretly jealous and wanted one too).

I told them what I'd found, and they shared what they had already discerned. As we planned and debated, Kevin started subconsciously drawing Enochian letters in his ketchup. I frowned a bit, flitted an onion ring in his direction.

"What?" he snapped back to reality.

"I dunno," I responded, "draw Pokemon characters or something instead. You're off the clock now." The kid looked down, saw the mess, squiggled it out.

"No making mountains out of mashed potatoes," Dean warned.

"I have no idea what that means," Kevin snarked back.

"It's a movie... From the 80s?"

"I was like negative five then."

Dean looked hard, looked up, started mental calculating, carried the one with his eyes, finished subtracting, and pursed his lips. "Just... stick to Chernobyl." Dean finally turned to Cas, who was still in his forever moping mood. "Eat, Cas."

"Dean, Chernobyl was that nuclear meltdown in the Ukraine," Sam drawled, being slightly condescending in that never so helpful manner he sometimes gets. Everyone silently agrees that it's not his best trait.

"I think you mean Charizard." Kevin piped up.

Dean exposed his palms, shrugging. "Sorry. I stopped after ninja turtles. After that, I became a man and got into girls," he grinned lecherously.

Sam's frown deepened. "You were like watching Mindy and Billy the other week with Charlie." (ed. note: this is not a time paradox. It's like their favorite show to watch together).

"Hey, that Death is cool. Plus it's Charlie. It's either cartoons or lesbian porn with her, and watching lesbian porn with a lesbian is not as fun as it should be."

We all just glared hard at him. Kevin blushed hard, and went back to his blizzard. I was slightly grossed out, but eh. It's Dean. The guy cannot filter his mouth to save his life.

After a few false starts (ed. note: this town has a street/avenue numbering system which means that there are eight streets alone with the number 7: 7th St NW, 7th St SW,7th St NE, 7th St SE, 7th Ave NW, 7th Ave SW,7th Ave NE, 7th Ave SE. They're all numbered like that. I was a severely unhappy chipmunk by the time I found the house).

I'd tracked down Martha the dead teenager's mother, found the usual teenaged story of rejected love from a boy named Stu.

Kevin stayed out in the car.

His own dead girlfriend was still a fresh wound, and Candace the dead teenager, Stu, Martha, and Kevin were all too close in age for him not to glom on to, and start to become depressed. I did empathize and sympathize, totally and completely, but Martha had already started the process of processing her daughter's death and trying to learn to live again. She wasn't going to make it; she was fading away from life, but somewhere deep in me was the ability to give aid and comfort to the sick. I am a doctor (of dentistry), and she was clearly needing my help. I was rusty, but I wanted to help, even if just by listening. (waitress: messenger of food)

Her story had been told so many times in so many ways that she had distilled it to the fewest words required. Deep down, I could feel minute connections being made. It was like a murder mystery. The red herring that wasn't red. The detective who wasn't a detective. I rolled my eyes, snapped back to reality. Martha and I stayed there for far too long. I listened as she talked, gave her the support she needed, and left her somewhat more at peace.

After that, Kevin and I puttered around the rest of the day. I found out that Stu had graduated early, and went off to Drake University. A quick check on facebook revealed no wife, no girlfriend, and the distinct possibility of being bi (ed. note: seriously don't care. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise).

I finally moved onto the next "real" victims, Mr. And Mrs. Victor and Loren Yodell. A lovely couple, had the hallmarks of being true love. She was deaf, they had a six month old, and they were planning on moving to Omaha soon. They'd met last summer at a softball tournament, dated too long (in Victor's opinion), and ultimately got married right when the others did too.

I continued to mosey around, did some research in the Troy library, tried to entertain Kevin as we strolled down the main street strip.

We all later met up at the local Catholic Knights of Columbus-Moose Lodge for their weekly fish fry and bingo night. I taught Cas the fine art of stamping bingo cards as Kevin got into a fish eating contest with Dean. I think Sam nibbled celery.

"So we simply need to fill out an entire row to win?"

"Pretty much," I smiled, looked across a vast field of dolls, trolls, tchotchkes, and talismen. We played another round. I lost even with my extra free space (ed note: What can I say? I was bored. This hunt has been a dud so far. But nobody knows gossip like old people. Get a little bingo ink on their fingers, and they open right up. I used this same technique about a year ago.).

A third round came through. I had just inked out B-4 when Cas showed me his winning card.

"Say, bingo! Bingo!" I yelped out, shoving his hand in the air.

The entire room stilled, thunderstruck (ed. note: I hate thunder, but I let it slide). It wasn't often that someone got a bingo in four numbers. Mrs. Gearstack, the number counter hobbled to us, read the numbers out loud, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Cas was stiffly led up to claim his prize of one carrot cake mix and a gift certificate to the local A&W. As he was walking back, I noticed a lovely, young woman slipped something into his pocket. She wasn't my type, she defintely wasn't Cas's type, but she definitely had that demure, hot for librarian thing going on.

As he settled back into his seat and started to ponder carrots in a cake, I skipped a round and retrieved the paper from his pocket.

"Huh," I exhaled.

"What is it?" he asked with those ever wondering eyes.

"Agnes, most pure and holy lamb of god," I giggled, flipped the sheet between two fingers, "has given you her phone number. You got lucky tonight, Cas."

"I do not..." he stepped, turned to me. "So she likes me, and wants to engage in-"

"She just wants you to call her, not engage in whatever you're about to say," I cut him off, saving us both.

He turned back to look at her, peered deeply in that way that should be considered creepy stalker, but comes more off as sincere devotion. She fluttered awkwardly back. I resisted the urge to be cynical. She really was a nice person.

We left shortly after that. I was tired. Cas was carrying his goodies, and Kevin was beyond bored in that Smells Like Teen Spirit boredom way.

Dean and Sam had already holed up for the night at the roach motel. We all bundled into their room (ed. note: seriously, they share hotel rooms together... why?), cracked open a beer.

I chugged a pale ale, figuring out where to start.

"Yeah, so. Dean got slapped today."

"I'm telling you, she was into that kind of thing."

"Right, Dean," Sam commented. "You guys find anything?"

"I won a carrot cake. It's in a box."

"Sweet," Dean replied, stealing it from Cas. "We'll fire up ol' Big Bertha when we get home, and make us a pie too?"

"It's the oven at the bunker," Sam filled in automatically.

"And he got a woman's number," I also filled in.

"Way to go, Cas!" Dean grinned.

"Agnes seems like a nice woman," Can added.

"Agnes, eh?" Dean rolled his eyebrows.

"A&W gift card too."

"Ooh. Love AND a root beer float. Cas is scoring left and right."

"Find anything useful?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Not much," I answered, distracted. I had to figure out a way to get Cas into yoga. He looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. "Bingo was a bust."

"You play bingo?"

"I've been known to ink now and then. Plus it's a great source for town gossip."

"Oh." Both guys nodded knowingly, suddenly respecting my hunting tricks.

"But I still like to play," I defended the game, slightly peeved at being judged for my entertainment choices.

The next day, I ate an apple for breakfast, and chunked one at Kevin. He was feeling out of sorts in the dietary way, and I knew lunch was going to be fast food yet again as we finally met at the A&W. I ordered the root beer float, Kevin and Sam ordered the healthiest thing there, while Cas and Dean continued to coyly flirt over cheese burgers. There was honestly nothing to this half-decade long flirtation, but that didn't mean they had any sort of actual social boundaries. They just clicked in that way some friends get where everything pieces together, and it shouldn't work, but it does.

Lunch was also super convenient, because the last couple on the list also owned the A&W. They were just starting to open it up for the season. Mrs. March was hanging the Now Open for Summer banner as Mr. March was changing the marquis to an onion ring sale. Yet another case of true love, I could just tell that they were compatible enough for each other.

We finally approached the restaurant, and asked them about it. They were in the giggly, gooey eyes stage, and explained how it all went down, how they had met as kids, hated each other, but connected a year ago, and decided to get married just like that. Pretty much mirrored the other marriages. I swear that they were finishing each other's sentences.

And then Dean got slapped by the waitress. I saw the whole thing. Dean, the mighty warrior, somehow not ducking fast enough and took the full brute force on his cheek. Terry the waitress, huffing off, angry and red. Mrs. March berating her and firing her on the spot. Mr. March offering free large root beer floats for the entire group if we would just please oh please not sue.

Dean shrugged off the hit, took the free drink, and chugged it down happily, making that slurping noise the whole time. He "really" wanted another one, but Sam forced the issue. And then Mr. March brought out yet another round to rot our teeth out, and Dean continued his root beer float binge (ed. note Yeah, I sucked my second one down too. But surreptitiously, because I had given the group shit about their teeth and high fructose corn syrup).

Even as all of that was happening, Cas grew quiet as Mrs. March handed him a business card and scampered off. I took it from his hands, read the note. Apparently, the happy Marches were not as love secure as I had thought. Yet another proposition from a woman with strong Christian values if the cross, beam of light, and kneeling Jesus stamped onto the card next to her name and contact information were any indication. It was a lovely card, but the sentiment was odd. Apparently, Christian women were just drawn to Cas. Or it was a clue. I was guessing clue.

"Mr. March," I finally piped up, drowning out the others. "Have the other married couples ever come here?"

The man shrunk his forehead, thinking deeply, then somewhat nodded. "I know Bill and Jolene met here last summer after the last softball tournament, right around the apple harvest. And the Passory's sometimes show up. But everyone comes here at some point."

I nodded, understanding. "And any employees from last year still working?"

"Just the same girls. Bethany and Madeline Stevens- their older siblings worked here a few years ago too. Then there's Sandra and Josh. Quinton- although he's president of the 4-H club this year, so I doubt he'll be here too much longer." He hadn't meant to give out that kind of information. The workers were all in high school, but he was still shook up over the slap, and desperate not to be sued or defamed. His chatter was covering up stress, and it made things so much easier. Dean should get slapped by people we need to question more often.

"And then there's Aerywn. She also works at the Dairy Queen."

And that pinged hard. "How do you spell that?" Fully expecting a W and a Y and possibly a silent T...or a Z. (ed. note: it's the kind of name you either see listed as some fanfic character and/or author's name OR it's the kind of name that gets you killed in this job.) "Is she working later today?"

Mr. March finished spelling the name, then shook his head. Said she was out with stomach illness. We each gave that "aha!" Look. Well, I gave it to Dean, who signaled that the interview was done in that Dean the Telepath sort of way by loudly announcing it and to expect a massive write up in the next Monday's edition of the Cedar Rapids Gazette.

I rolled my eyes, thinking that he might have mixed up our cover stories, but the Marches were beaming and bouncing at the news.

We met back at the hotel (seriously, too many people on this hunt). I brushed and flossed and finished just in time for Sam to have tracked her down to 1454 12th Ave. "What are the cardinal directions?" Kevin asked helpfully as I cringed.

"Ahh... NE," Sam replied. "Is that useful?"

"Yes!" Dean, Kevin, and I replied simultaneously. I'm guessing Dean does most of the driving.

We all crammed into the cars, able to feel the hunt coming to a head as we headed to NE 12th Ave.

The address turned out to be the end of the town. A two-story house stood right next to a corn field. I parked down the street, the Impala was parked half a block away (ed. note: it's a rookie mistake to park right at the site of a hunt. Tires can get punctured, fire balls can torch it, cops can ticket it, you get the idea. If you can't run 500 feet to the car for a fast escape, you're basically dead already). I hadn't wanted Kevin to come, but he insisted, and he probably needed some hands-on experience. Cas too.

There were five of us for one teenaged girl. I needed more salt shells. I could feel it. Something was off. Dean went first with Sam. Kevin, Cas, and I hung back a little.

An eighteen year old girl appeared at the door. Took one look at us, slammed the door.

Dean knocked harder. A brutal, tatted man answered the door. He was tall, taller than Sam. Broad shouldered. Definitely a bruiser type.

"Where's Aerywn?" I asked loudly, feeling that aggression was actually the required response.

"If you don't get off my porch, I'm gonna shoot you so full of lead."

I stalked up the rickety stairs, stared him down. "You're lying,"

"You're right," he giggled, started to shrink. And then I recognized her for what she was.

"You're-" I began as the guys grappled for her.

"Ohhhhh... ffuuuuuuuddddddggggggeeeeee," I yelped as I jumped back. She slammed hard against Sam, then Dean. Pulled off a hunk of wood paneling from the door frame, and hurled it at me.

I hit the edge of the porch, flailed, and landed hard on my back. I'm pretty sure something snapped or broke or crunched. I couldn't really tell as Kevin hovered above me, wavering in and out. Then I looked down and saw the paneling blossoming from my chest. And then there was Cas. Crying. Great drops of water just gushing from his eyes. That one caught me off guard. Castiel just destroyed with emotion. I couldn't handle that. Out of everything this was the worst part of this all.

And then I wasn't.

I startled awake. Tied up. Aerywn was tied up too next to me in another chair. We were inside the house by the cornfield. How convenient.

"So," Dean growled, full-hunter mode. "Aerywn. Or whoever you might be."

"I am. I'm just a witch."

"And Garth. Or whoever you might be."

Fuck.

This jig was thoroughly up.

"You're not just a witch, Eris."

"Huh," Dean thought out loud. "Greek goddess of discord?"

"Yep," Sam grunted back. Dean pumped his fist, stoked at being right.

"I was just spreading love," Eris stated. "Is that so wrong? Everyone's happy."

"It's not love. It's a curse." I interjected.

"And how would you know?"

"Because it's always a curse with you. Cas's love notes. The suicide. The bigamist murderer. Dean getting slapped."

Dean preened as a peacock.

"What? Sometimes my spells go wonky. Cursed curses, you might say. But I was still spreading love. The others really were destined to true love, and I was helping. Is that so wrong?"

"Yes," everyone agreed.

"So how do we kill her?" Dean asked me point blank.

I gave a "how should I know?" shoulder tilt.

Dean looked at me.

"Okay, we used to date. A long time ago. Really long."

"How long?"

This was getting boring. The knot on my bindings slipped loose, and I finally stood up. "Really long," I replied. The others scrambled for cover, but we were long past this point of fighting. "Eris. There's an old rule I never used to follow: 'Don't date crazy.' Now I get it."

She glared at me, wishing nasty, ugly things at me and my friends until I finally touched her arm. She stiffened, went slack, not quite dead, not quite alive.

I turned back to the others. They were cowering. Even brave and scary, shit my pants scary Dean Winchester.

"So, which are you? Jeremiah? Quintus? Polybius?" Cas asked quietly, guessing hard, guessing wrong.

"No, Castiel."

He gasped, cowered, fell to his knees in abject poverty and self-loathing. He really would make a fantastic Catholic.

"None of that," I argued, walking over to him, and helping him back up. "We're both beyond such things."

And then I needed to sit down, because I was definitely not at full power. Whatever the guys had done more than just torched my wings, they had burnt something elemental out of me. I went back to the chair, and plopped heavily into it.

"Gabriel," Sam hazarded a guess.

"No," Dean argued, looked at me coldly, saw something, pursed his lips. "No... 'Luci, you got some splainin' to do.'"

"Don't call me that," I snapped back, shrugged. "Fine. Whatevs."

Dean took a second to think, then moved on. "Are you possessing Garth?"

"What? No."

"Then-"

This was becoming dangerous. My burning desire to flee on a wing and a prayer was ever powerful, but someone dicked with the cosmos. I was stuck. "I've always been Garth. I mean. After. Everything." This was not the time for a flashback.

"So. Spill. Why didn't you help us? Help get Sam out of the Cage? Where have you been?!" Dean was becoming violent.

I rolled my eyes. "The two brothers that I liked are back in dad's time out play pen beacuse of me and you two. Heaven is controlled by an evil idiot savant. My third brother really is dead, and you knuckleheads started something insanely stupid, and then aborted it mid-mission. Great job there."

"How did you survive Lucifer?" Cas asked quietly.

"I gave Luci exactly what he wanted: a dead me. He did originally teach me every trick in the book, but his book hadn't been updated in six thousand years. He tried to take me out using the exact same technique of pretending to sneak up on someone from behind and then they stab you. Heck, you two took me out with the same method the first time we met. And the second. And the third."

"And Casa Erotica?"

I grinned. "What did I say in it?"

"Something about delivering pizza."

We all looked at Cas.

"What? No."

"That we couldn't kill Lucifer without you," Sam answered.

"That's a Bingo. Like I'm going to just give you guys information that can kill my brothers. I put that bug in your ear that you can't kill him, and then you couldn't. One of my better moves."

"I have killed... many of our brothers and sisters."

My face fell. That one did hurt. I've smote the guilty for far less. "Shut up, Cas... We'll talk about that later."

"No, we won't," Dean spat out, getting close, "you're not hurting him."

I lifted my palms in acquiescence. "Family business, Dean. Sometimes we have to talk about things."

"You're not."

"All right, I'm not. I wasn't, and now I've said it."

"Why Garth?"

I didn't know that myself honestly. But I wasn't about to tell him that. "It just happened. Fell into it, hooked up with Bobby soon after Stull. After he died, I just went on. Hunting gave me something, and it was strangely familiar. I went from smiting evil humans to smiting evil monsters. The only real difference is that you two are perfectly okay with one group and not the other."

"You don't get to be part of our family." Now Dean was pouting. Like a child. He was angry and hurt for far too many reasons. And he was mourning the loss of Garth. I had been Garth, but the little dentist had meant something for Dean that went beyond me.

"I'm not. Bobby took me in. I was a mess. He cleaned me up. Got me going again, and then you two came back. I couldn't get involved with the Civil War or bust out Sam or fight the Leviathan. It meant going back to Heaven. And fighting with Raphael. And probably killing him. And then I'd be Michael. And the ruler of Heaven job just ruined him. Imagine me in that role. Rocks would fall, everyone would die."

"What about me. And my mom?"

I couldn't look at Kevin. Another one of my screw ups. "You ever notice I wasn't around a whole lot when the boat was maxed out on Enochian runes? The less I was leaving angelic fingerprints around meant the less I was going to be detected. Plus I had guarded it against angels at times. Even myself. I got careless, though." I trailed off. "I'm sorry."

Kevin quivered, became soulfully irate. "You don't get to just be sorry for all of this." Stumbled off outside to grieve yet again. Leaving me with the Winchesters and whatever the hell Cas was labeled as now.

"So. You're Gabriel," Dean began.

"How do we kick Metatron out of Heaven?"

"I don't know."

"How do we fix this?"

"I don't know, Dean. You have to understand something that you completely missed before, so let me repeat myself again. I have no idea just how powerful I am now. I thought I was going to die from that wood splinter earlier. I have things missing from me that you can't even begin to comprehend. Some things I can't even remember exactly what I used to have, only that I used to have them. Metatron didn't just burn off our wings. He took a magnifying glass and seared them off along with whatever else was in the way at the time. We're all stuck at different levels of power and abilities from this, and I'm pretty sure that I'm one of the worst affected. I can't fly. I don't heal properly, and a few other fucked up things that I am not about to tell the Winchesters for my own personal safety."

Dean gave me that "we'll talk about this later when Sam's not around" look. Finally stated out loud, "this hunt's done. I can't wait to get out of this godforsaken town," and stormed off after Kevin.

Sam stayed with Cas and me there, quiet, and I finally looked at him hard. Something was deeply off about him. Not wrong, but something in the corner of my eye. Something I couldn't ask about or comprehend. I was a mess. But there was something deep inside Sam, and it wasn't something I was comfortable about.

I had lost yet another foster family of sorts.

Then Kevin stormed back in with a cell phone. Threw it at me and left.

"Hello?" I asked dumbly.

"Who is this?"

I looked down at the number. "Garth here. What do you want, Vernon?"

"How do you kill a Spectre again?"

How this man was still alive... I had explained it in great detail three times prior. "Well, Vern..." I started.

Earlier this week:

(ed. note: yes, this is a flashback. Also like I was just going to tell you all that I've been Gabriel this whole. When I'm this deep in hiding, I don't tell anyone anything. I am a Russian stacked doll set inside a Chinese puzzle box inside a gift wrapped inside another gift wrapped inside another gift. I got levels you ain't even heard about.)

I could sense a presence in the force. I knew they were hiding something massive in the bunker, something big. But I couldn't just up and find it or even find out what it was without some heavy hunting.

The brothers should have been all over the marriage case. And they were just raring to go and get out on the road. Cabin fever had definitely set in, and the ten marriages plus one bigamist murder was enough to make them scurry for the nearest gas station that sold diesel. But something was holding them back.

And enough time had passed since I basically had moved in that I could see the patterns. Around ten each night, Kevin would get nervous, then relax fifteen minutes later.

So I ended up snooping. All Shags and Scooby like.

And then I found the Winchester Hotel California hidden in the archives.

I didn't go into the whatever just immediately. They had laid some pretty heavy duty warding spells, just total Jurassic Park level lock down mode, both for entering and exiting.

I smiled.

"I know someone is out there," I heard someone muffle. My grin fell.

Shit.

Sam and Dean went from raging suicidal stupid at times to fucking stupid to the tenth power.

"Come on. I know you're curious. Who have the Winchesters got locked away? Who is this man behind the revolving bookcase? You see, I'm their prisoner. I'm an- angel. They're totally insane and want me to-"

I opened the eye holes.

"You are so not an angel," I replied.

"Oh?"

"The stepfather of lies and deceit? You're barely a wisp of black smoke."

The man grinned. "Come in, Love."

"Ah, but is it safe?"

(ed. note: I love this joke so hard. Most dentists despise it. Go on. Youtube the line. We'll all wait here until you've caught up.)

The beady faced man narrowed his eyes. I opened mine.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Bobby."

"Bullshit. I knew Bobby Singer. I was friends with Bobby Singer. And you, Sir, are no Bobby Singer."

"Nope. It's true. I am now Bobby 2.0. A humble man of no repute."

"You lie."

"Oh no," I responded. "I have the Dean Winchester stamp of approval."

"Goddammit, who are you?"

I finally entered the room, broke a couple seals, fixed them. An aleph here, a thorn there, a three squiggle lines under an extended forearm, that kind of thing. Strengthening each spell, each ward, but in a way that nobody would really detect. I finally added a couple of runes as finishing touches (ed. note: I had picked these particular sigils up from the last two living Viking priests several hundred years ago. One had lived in Iceland (no surprise there), the other exiled in Constantinople. I paid each handsomely for their troubles. I was, after all, one of their deities, and made sure both ended their days comfortably). Then I thought a bit, added an Arabic taa'marbuta to really hammer things home, and stood back to enjoy my creation.

"Good luck escaping this," I sneered. "Now. Tell me what you know."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"Ever the dreamer and schemer. The little crossroads demon wants to make a deal. Sorry, I'm not a little fish of an angel caught on your nasty little hook. You tell me everything, and you get nothing in return."

"Then I won't talk."

"Oh, Crowley. Ve have vays of making yew talk."

The snit had the audacity to grin at me, actually revealing his teeth. "Excellent. Just be gentle, Lover. It's been a while."

I rolled my eyes. He always had a reputation at being a perv. "Yeah, that's not going to happen. I listen. You talk. That's all."

So I listened. And he talked.

Kevin was throwing things into his bag when I finally caught back up to the motel room. He'd stolen my car, and the boys had refused to drive me back. Cas stayed with me. Dean looked hurt, but ultimately understood on some level in that fraternal way. We walked back. But in solitude. He needed something I couldn't give him, I could pretend that I could. He accepted that at least.

Kevin was storming out when I tossed him back into the room. He was streaked with tears and grime.

"I'm staying with Sam and Dean. I don't ever want to see you again."

"Even with the apple fart bombs?"

"Don't. Just don't."

"Kevin, you have to understand something."

"No, I don't. You're the angel who has to protect me and failed. I'm the prophet. I have to come first."

"No, Raph was the angel who was supposed to protect you, and he's dead. I did my best given the circumstances, and I still failed. Honestly, Kevin, and don't tell anyone, but that really is the story of my life. One long, goddamn failure. No matter what I become or life I live, I still somehow screw it up."

"I don't care."

"I know. I'm not going to stop you. I actually couldn't. Well, maybe I could now. I don't know. Things are a little weird."

He finally left then.

I was alone. Again.

Again. Story of my life.

We finally left Troy, Iowa. Cas was with me; Eris was tied up in my trunk. (ed. note: there's a joke about white slavery, the Mann Act, the FBI, and crossing state lines with a girl, but this just wasn't really the time).

Kevin refused to even look at me, let alone get in my car.

Cas, however, opted to ride with me. We talked. And we didn't talk. We took breaks, and I let him decompress. He admitted to everything he had ever done, and I admitted that he had royally screwed up, but I couldn't give him absolution or punishment. That was up to our father. I think he honestly wanted someone to take him out, not that he was a coward, but that he wanted to know that the angelic host had considered him tainted and fit for punishment. I certainly wasn't about to turn him into a pillar of salt, but I could admit that the temptation was there.

The fact that Cas wasn't currently an oil slick stain probably showed where dad's sentiment lay in all of this.

"You know. One of the reasons pops is so powerful? Even with Death? That sets him apart from the other pagan gods?"

Cas started, stilled. He wasn't sure if I was blaspheming or about to somehow get picked up by Naomi and reset to factory settings. Gabriel the messenger, deliverer of news, "god is my strength," that I'm to tell people that their lives are about to become all kind of fucked up, the kind of rhetoric that Naomi always got a hard on for.

"Sacrifice and self-penance are powerful weapons-especially when it concerns the soul. Pagan gods run on belief as do we to a much smaller extent. The real difference is that they eat and consume on human souls to keep them young and pretty. Dad doesn't. He actually put humanity above his own desires and needs. He's sacrificed himself and his own son did the same for humanity. Not out of greed, but out of something quite more humble. Dad can be arrogant and slightly egotistical, but he always does the right thing in the end. A couple other pagan gods got close to that, but never close enough. Actually, the coelacanth god actually did it to save his kind, which is why they're still around despite being pretty tasty, but there were some other issues playing out there as well that I won't get into.

"The point is, Cas. You've really fucked up in the past, and I'm kind of surprised that you're still around. But you've always tried to do the right thing even if your methods were whack at times. Keep hanging with those two knuckleheads, and you'll probably die a lot faster than you think you will, but it actually might be worth it in the long run. We also might need to get you baptized. I'm not sure on the legalities of this scenario, but it couldn't hurt. We also need to get you into some yoga classes. Get you to relax more."

He bowed his head at this.

And then the Safety Dance song came through on the radio, and I rocked out for a bit. Because I had a feeling that this upcoming year was going to be insane, and I needed some down time.


End file.
